Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1423: Slicing the Pie

As for the territories on land, Orion intended to carve out a significant slice for Aina.

She had provided the coordinates to the world, after all. Helping her slaughter her enemies was just a bonus; the land was her rightful payment.

Beyond that, Tangere, Scarecrow, Caesar, and Aerin—the subordinates Orion planned to drag along as his workhorses—needed a piece of the pie to keep them motivated. He also couldn’t forget Isabella, Alexander’s disciple. And if the Demon Makareth woke up in time, Orion wouldn’t leave him out in the cold.

Conquering a new world required a massive amount of labor and management. The more cake he distributed, the more loyal hands he had on deck. It was a small price to pay to minimize losses for the Stoneheart Horde and keep his forces fresh for the inevitable inter-dimensional invasions looming on the horizon.

"Heh. You lucky bastard," Leonidas chuckled, swirling his drink. "A Survivor handing you a world on a silver platter? That’s rare. The locals of that world must be truly cursed. Of all the people to offend, they chose a woman with a grudge and the means to act on it."

Leonidas had scanned the intel in the crystal orb. As a Survivor himself, he appreciated the hustle.

"I’ve got Aina setting up a teleportation altar," Orion said, his tone shifting to business. "The throughput will be low at first. We’ll have to be surgical. Eldoria is protected by a Realm Barrier, and the local Holy Order won’t roll over easily. I’ll need you to do some heavy lifting, Brother."

Orion wasn’t worried about the combat itself. He could handle two or three First-Stage Demigods without breaking a sweat. He needed Leonidas there for crowd control—to prevent the enemy from using superior numbers to swarm his lieutenants while he was occupied.

"Don’t worry about it," Leonidas said, raising his glass in a toast. "I’ll be your battering ram. Consider me your hired muscle for this one."

"Boss," Kraken interjected, leaning forward. "Do we need to loop in the Platinum Authority? Ask for support?"

He was worried about the politics. If the Champions Alliance’s newly formed governing body got involved, they would demand a massive cut of the profits.

"No," Orion replied instantly. "We don’t need their help."

This was a private venture. As the mastermind behind the invasion of Eldoria, Orion had the right to keep it off the books. Between him and Leonidas, backed by their Archlord subordinates, they had enough firepower. The Platinum Authority was unnecessary dead weight.

"Besides," Orion added, "the Authority is tied up. They’re prepping an invasion of a different world to build up their own resource reserves. They don’t have the bandwidth for us."

"In that case, we need to be thorough," Kraken noted. "Our planning needs to be airtight."

Orion and Leonidas shrugged in unison. That went without saying.

"Boss, one more thing," Kraken said, hesitating slightly. "I’m thinking of bringing someone new into the fold. For the Eldoria invasion. Can I tag him along?"

This was a personal request. Outside the Champions Alliance, Kraken had his own network, and he had spotted a potential recruit.

"Well, look at that," Leonidas grinned, sitting up from his lounger. "I’m becoming a patriarch now. Grandfather Leonidas."

He was in a good mood. Kraken’s people were his people.

"You want us to vet him?" Orion asked.

He knew Kraken well enough to read between the lines.

"After that mess with Tangere, I realized something," Kraken admitted, his voice serious. "To really know someone, you need multiple angles. I’m too close to this guy. My judgment might be clouded by friendship. I need fresh eyes."

"Bring him out," Leonidas nodded approvingly. "Let your big brothers take a look. If he can catch Squiddy’s eye, he must have some tricks up his sleeve."

Orion shrugged indifferently. At best, the guy would be Legendary level. He’d get the scraps, nothing more.

"It’s a deal then."

Titanion Realm, The Northern Bastion of Menethis.

Compared to the Imperial Capital of the Human Kingdom, the Northern Bastion was practically on the edge of the known world. It was a harsh, rugged frontier, bordering the wildlands where beast hordes and demi-humans roamed freely.

Sieges were a fact of life here.

Recently, the beast tides had waned, replaced by something far worse: a relentless, suffocating insect plague.

Prince Theodore stood on the battlements, clad in battered plate armor. The air stank of sulfur and burnt chitin. For three days and three nights, he had commanded the defense, ordering the guards to ignite the trenches with alchemical oil.

The fires had burned without pause, a wall of flame and black smoke used to push back the endless carpet of mandibles and claws. Only now, after sustaining massive casualties, had the swarm finally receded.

"Finally..."

Theodore slumped against the cold stone of the parapet, exhaustion etched into his face.

As a Legendary-level warrior, the physical exertion was manageable. The mental toll, however, was crushing. He looked out at the smoldering battlefield, his heart heavy with worry for the city and the soldiers he had lost.

He stared into the dying flames, his mind drifting.

"Have you decided?"

The voice was quiet, almost lost in the wind.

King Harold appeared beside him. Like his son, the King stared out at the burning horizon and the gloomy forest beyond.

Have you decided?

It was a demand for a choice. A choice of destiny.

"I’m not going," Theodore said. He turned to look at his father, his eyes reflecting a complex storm of emotions. "I will stay and guard the Northern Bastion. I won’t abandon my people."

In a normal world, Theodore would have inherited the throne in a few years. He would have been a King.

But now?

The Human Kingdom was preparing to migrate to a different continent entirely. But Theodore wasn’t naive. Would a displaced kingdom really remain independent? Would the native powers of the new continent accept them?

The Kingdom would face internal strife and external rejection. War would simply follow them across the ocean.

Looking at his father’s aged face, Theodore felt a sudden pang of pity. The old man had to navigate this political nightmare in his twilight years.

"Good," Harold said softly. "To be honest, I didn’t want you to come."

It was a rare admission. A King did not usually reveal his heart, but in this moment, Harold was just a father.

The migration was a lie of omission.

The "Human Kingdom" that was moving consisted of the nobility, the wealthy merchants, and their personal armies. The commoners—the millions of people who tilled the fields and worked the mines—were being left behind. No one had the capacity to transport them.

As long as the "seed" of the nobility survived, the logic went, the population could be regrown on the new continent given enough resources and time. The people here were acceptable losses.

Harold had come to the Northern Bastion not just to hear Theodore’s choice, but to give his final orders.